


Thousand-Watt

by Byacolate, mywordsflyup



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Human Zenyatta, M/M, Oneshot, Young Genji Shimada, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: Genji is a poor guide and a poorer shepherd of monks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A silly little thing inspired by [venomine's adorable human Zenyatta au](http://venomines.tumblr.com/tagged/human%21zenyatta). It sat collecting dust in our drafts for half a year, but enough is enough.

There are about a million places Genji would rather be than be here, and he’s pretty sure everyone around him can tell. He’s not like Hanzo with his face of stone, stoic and unreadable. When Genji dislikes something, people can usually tell. Not much point in hiding it, anyway. He kicks a stone and watches it land close to the nearest booth. The vendor looks up from organizing his display to shoot him a suspicious look and Genji is tempted to stick his tongue out at him. He doesn’t, though. Just buries his hands deeper in his pockets and strolls over to a spot where the man can’t give him the evil eye anymore. 

 

Hanzo would probably enjoy this as well - not that anyone would be able to tell. It's the most boring job at this festival and of course it had to fall to Genji. Because of course Hanzo’s too busy doing more important things to shepherd a bunch of monks around the town. He'd called it an honor and a privilege when he'd given Genji the itinerary, but in the end it’s always Genji who gets stuck doing the boring stuff. 

 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends off a couple of more texts to his friends. He’s not quite begging begging for entertainment - he’s not that desperate yet. But it’s close. Hanzo would kill him if he knew he asked his friends to come but as long as Genji doesn’t have to spend the day alone with those monks, it’ll be worth it. 

 

Unsurprisingly, none of his friends want to come, but Michi has nothing better to do has nothing better to do and promises to drop by. He’s mostly interested in ogling the monks, but that’s alright with Genji.

 

He doesn’t know what his father stands to gain from the monks’ favor. It can’t be much - what could the yakuza possibly need from a group of pacifistic mountain-dwellers? Presumably, the duty of hosting falls to them simply for owning most of Hanamura.

 

That then begs the question: What _do_ the Shambali want from Hanamura?

 

Genji leans over into a stall for some green shaved ice. It’s effective in cutting off a train of thought better left to the family’s paranoia. Genji would prefer to remove himself as far from the Shimada hivemind as possible. 

 

Michi meets Genji at the corner where he’s meant to meet the monks. There are coins jingling in his pocket, which tells Genji he’s going to spend the least amount of time he feasibly can poking fun at the monks before he’s off to the arcade, traitorous bastard.

 

“So... ah, they aren’t here yet?” 

 

“Would be hard to miss them, don’t you think?” 

 

Michi shrugs and kicks at the dirt. “I thought you might have scared them off already with that face of yours.” He grins. “Or the hair.” 

 

Genji’s hand automatically flies up to run through his hair. He’d only just gone green last month, and as much fun it is to watch the apoplectic rage bloom on Hanzo’s face every time he looks Genji's way, he’s still getting used to it himself. Genji huffs. “Unlikely.” 

 

It doesn’t stop Michi from grinning, but Genji’s spared from further mockery by a commotion down by the stall with the stink-eyed vendor. The festival only started less than an hour ago but there’s already enough of a crowd to make it difficult to see what’s going on. 

 

Michi, who has a few (insignificant) inches on Genji, cranes his neck. “Ah," he chirps, "I think those are your monks.” 

 

Despite himself, Genji’s interest is piqued. It’s a challenge to appear nonchalant on one’s tiptoes, but confidence is half the battle and Genji’s got confidence in spades. 

 

They’re swathed in brightly colored robes which makes them easy to discern from afar. Genji knows from Hanzo’s report that there are nine Shambali in total, but only five have made the journey to Hanamura. Their - leader? Mentor? Head monk? How  _ does _ hierarchy work in a monastic order? - Tekhartha Mondatta is likely to speak, he’s been cautioned. 

 

And in turn, Genji had warned Hanzo how unlikely he is stick around for all that noise.

 

He assumes the tallest one in the most ornate robes of white must be Tekhartha Mondatta. There’s an austere air about him that radiates with an aura almost palpable. The rest dress more humbly, though in far louder colors. 

 

Every last one of them is bald.

 

“I don’t think I could ever shave my head,” Michi mutters, running his fingers through his hair. 

 

“That’s your vanity talking," Genji prods him. But then his eye is caught, and he's almost too distracted to hear Michi’s affronted response. 

 

All of the monks have serene, neutral expressions but one. The closer they walk, the clearer Genji can see the one in red and yellow who smiles with enough radiance to put the sun to shame. 

 

Genji runs a hand over his breast bone, perplexed.

 

While the others keep looking to their leader or each other and only glance at their surroundings from time to time, the smiling one seems determined to take everything in, turning his head left and right and sometimes even falling a few steps behind the other monks when he spots something interesting. 

 

Michi might be saying something but Genji isn't listening.  


 

The wayward monk stops at one of the stalls, fascinated by the little blown glass figurines dangling from the ceiling. He says something but he’s too far for Genji to make it out and it doesn’t take long before one of his brothers tugs at his sleeve to urge him along. 

 

Genji knows he should walk up to them and introduce himself. He knows he’s here for a reason - one that definitely doesn’t include staring at just one monk in particular. The group is moving slowly and if he doesn’t do something, they’ll be swallowed by the crowd and he’ll have to chase them.

 

But before he’s able to will his feet to move, the monk turns his head and looks straight at him. 

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Genji?” Michi nudges him with his elbow. “I’m insulting you here! Are you listening?”

 

Dark eyes and open curiosity focused directly on Genji. He swallows thickly and shoves Michi off of him. “Hey, you were going to the arcade, right?”

 

“Yeah, but -”

 

“Do that!” Genji waves off his protests and winces at his loud, dramatic whine of his name. The part of him that would normally play into the theatrics is mysteriously silent as he makes his way toward the monks. 

 

“Ah… hello,” he says in English, clearing his throat when he’s close enough. Four more pairs of eyes are on him now, serene and approachable all. Why is he so nervous? Genji sticks his hands in his pockets, tilting his chin up and trying to find the disinterest that sustained him not five minutes ago. “I am Shimada Genji - uh. Please call me Genji.”

 

Mondatta introduces himself, his voice as deep and calm as his appearance would suggest, before they’re interrupted by a short woman pushing her way through the crowd, a bunch of pamphlets in one hand and an umbrella in the other. She’s out of breath, her cheeks red from running and embarrassment, and it takes a moment of explanation for Genji to understand that she’s the guide who had accompanied the monks from the airport. 

 

Of course. There’s a protocol. Genji vaguely remembers what Hanzo told him about it but it’s all the more difficult when he’s also trying to avoid staring at the monk in the back. Whenever he does, he’s met with those dark curious eyes that make him feel all skittish and excited at the same time. 

 

There are more introductions, names that wash right over him as he’s solely focused on keeping his feet still, until it’s finally the last monk’s turn. “Tekhartha Zenyatta,” he says and bows his head. He smiles, and Genji's head spins. 

 

“Shimada Genji,” he says, a little dazed until he remembers he’s already introduced himself. Mentally he can’t stop kicking himself, and resists the urge to tug on his orange scarf. 

 

Tekhartha Zenyatta is very, very pretty for a bald man. His dark skin glows in the bright morning sun, and he carries himself with an almost ethereal grace. 

 

Perhaps it’s because he seems younger than the others, but there’s something different about him. Something about his smile, or the light in his eyes. His hands are broad, fingers long, the backs of his hands tattooed with words in a language Genji doesn’t understand. 

 

The guide is speaking to Genji, but it’s hard to focus on her rundown of the itinerary with those clever eyes on him. He nods and mumbles his agreement, hyper aware of Zenyatta’s attention.

 

Did it get hotter outside? It must have; Genji’s burning up.

 

To probably no one’s surprise it turns out that Genji isn’t the greatest guide the group could have hoped for. During the festival in years past, he'd normally kept to pestering the food vendors with his friends and heckling one another at the kid games until long past sundown.  


 

It doesn’t help that he keeps looking over to Zenyatta to see his reactions. 

 

The guide whose name Genji has already forgotten seems much better prepared than he is. She’s clearly nervous and there are still red blotches on her cheeks but she at least knows her way around the festival while Genji’s pretty sure he would have gotten lost twice already. As she takes the lead, he drifts further and further toward the back of the group. 

 

To the surprise of Genji and the butterflies in his stomach, he’s joined at the very back of the group by the only person who seems genuinely interested in the festivities. 

 

“I have never seen hair more cheerfully colored than yours,” Zenyatta tells him. The timbre of his voice could move mountains. Genji’s pretty sure he’s too young for heart palpitations and sweaty palms. He’s going to google all these symptoms when he gets home. 

 

It takes him a moment to find the proper English, and when he finally does, all he can muster is: “Ah… yes. I - yes.”

 

Zenyatta smiles until the corners of his eyes crinkle. There are no lines on his face, but Genji can tell he’ll have deep wrinkles in those corners when he’s older. He’s the smiling type. Why does Genji feel like he’s dying? 

 

“It reminds me of new spring grass on the mountaintop.” 

 

“The box called it ‘sea foam green,’” Genji says, shoving his hands into his pockets. Zenyatta laughs softly. 

 

“It is clear I am not so familiar with the colors of the sea,” he says warmly, touching fingertips to his naked chest. Somewhere, an angel is weeping.

 

“It’s not like that,” Genji says. “The sea, I mean.” He’s stumbling over his words and his face feels weirdly hot. “Grass is probably closer to it.” 

 

Zenyatta smiles like Genji just said something a lot cleverer than what actually came out of his mouth. “I saw it for the first time from the window of the plane,” he says, a little lower like he’s sharing a secret. “It looked very blue to me. But perhaps in other places…” 

 

Genji has the sudden thought to whisk him to every beach in the world, just to compare the colors. There's something wrong with him.  


 

Someone is calling his name but it takes him a second to even notice. It’s the guide, looking more confused than annoyed but Genji still feels a little sting of guilt in his stomach when he realizes how far he and Zenyatta have drifted from the group. 

 

“We’re going to the ferris wheel next,” she tells him in Japanese when they’ve caught up. 

 

“Yes,” Genji says, still a little dazed. “The ferris wheel.” The one thing he can actually find pretty easily just on account of its size and the one attraction that doesn’t really require much additional information he should know. 

 

It’s his father’s contribution to the festival - atypical, but whimsical. It’s sure to twist the family’s collective panties, but his father always did enjoy a little extraordinary in the ordinary. It’s probably the only reason Genji himself doesn’t have a shaved head after the dye job.

 

When the guide - Kimio, he reminds himself - takes a vote of their charges, only one is interested in climbing in a box to be spun off the ground in slow motion. 

 

“I would like to see the village from above,” Zenyatta says bypassing Mondatta and the others. They bid him farewell with knowing looks and turn their attention toward the vendor stalls. Kimio looks between her one straggler and the rest of the group, and Genji steps forward.

 

“I will join you,” he offers, much to Kimio’s relief. She trails off after the others, and Zenyatta… has another sun-bright smile for him. 

 

Genji grabs a couple tickets and ushers the monk into a seat. Zenyatta watches with rapt fascination as Genji shuts the little door and squeezes in beside him. They are very, very close.

 

“I must thank you for this opportunity, Genji,” he says, folding his hands neatly in his lap. The words are polite, but his tone flows genuine in its serenity. He’d probably take Zenyatta on a thousand rides if he looked at Genji with that light in his eyes. 

 

“It is no trouble,” Genji says instead, stiff with formality. 

 

“I do not know why my brothers and sisters would deny themselves this experience,” Zenyatta says. When the ferris wheel starts moving, he lets out a little gasp and holds on to the side of their seat with one hand. With the other he briefly grabs Genji’s arm. Once Zenyatta adjusts to the sensation, he laughs, clear and bright, and the sound rolls through Genji like a wave. “Excuse me. I did not expect it to start so suddenly.” He lets go of Genji’s arm and folds his hands in his lap again. 

 

The spot where his fingers have pressed through Genji’s shirt tingles and Genji’s pretty sure his heart is beating loud enough for the whole festival to hear. 

 

“Maybe they are afraid of heights,” he says, scolding himself for how lame he sounds as soon as the words leave his lips. 

 

Zenyatta looks at him, his eyes wide. “I had not considered that. It would be a shame for fear to deprive them of this. Look!” 

 

They’ve not even reached the top of the wheel yet, but they're high enough to look out over the stalls of the festival and the surrounding shops. It's not a large ferris wheel, by any standard, but according to Zenyatta's reaction, Genji supposes such a thing might be subjective.  


 

“Hanamura is a beautiful place, from within and from above,” Zenyatta marvels, leaning over far enough to make even Genji nervous. He hesitates before reaching out to touch Zenyatta’s forearm. 

 

“You will fall out if you keep that up,” he says, smiling a little. Zenyatta beams back.

 

“Not with you to keep my balance, Genji.”

 

If Michi were in Zenyatta’s place, Genji’s pretty sure he’d push him precariously close to the tipping point for a laugh. The thought stirs a bit of guilt inside him - he much prefers whatever false opinion Zenyatta has formed about him.

 

“Oh!” Zenyatta calls out and leans out a little bit further. Genji to curls his fingers around his sleeve just a little tighter. “We can see all the way to the temple!”

 

It’s true. They’re almost at the top of the ferris wheel now and the view is pretty spectacular. Genji’s never seen Hanamura from this angle, familiar and strange all at once. He can see his own house - or the temple, as Zenyatta said - but it feels a little weird to point that out. 

 

“What is that?” Zenyatta points at a different part of the village and Genji leans forward to see what he means. The blinking lights of the arcade are pretty much unmistakable, even from up here. 

 

He explains it as best he can, even when English fails him and he has to use wild hand gestures instead of words. He feels silly but Zenyatta just nods and encourages him to go on. By the time their little seat stops at the top of the wheel, Genji’s babbling and he’s painfully aware of it. 

 

From the arcade, it’s easy to trace the familiar streets and Genji points out his favorite stores and the ramen shop he visits nearly every day. He almost leaves out the last part but something about Zenyatta’s smile makes it impossible to lie even about something small like his bad eating habits. 

 

“I would love to visit all these places. They sound like they are important to you.” 

 

“Ah… your guide would worry,” Genji says, and then slowly, a smile grows on his face. He glances over at his charge. “We should do it.”

 

Zenyatta beams and clasps his hands. “Excellent!”

 

It’s easier to speak after this, words coming quicker, conversation flowing as they descend from the loop.

 

And with hardly any effort at all, Genji kidnaps a really quite affable monk.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, venomines? Why don't you @ me next time you want to personally attack my Achilles heel for Zenyatta's smile. -B
> 
>  
> 
> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> mywordsflyup's Tumblr: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> Byacolate's Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Byacolate's Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


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